


One Shot Over the Line

by opalmatrix



Category: Alliance-Union - C. J. Cherryh
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunken Shenanigans, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 22:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: Meg and Sal leave the boys on their own for the evening, with unexpected results.





	One Shot Over the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Because Sholio loves the Hellburner crew, too! Maybe this happens sometime after [Teamwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650117), or maybe it happened on its own in a parallel universe.

"Drank three shots of Mariner vodka! Had myself a couple more beers!" 

Dekker couldn't sing worth crap, and it was a lousy song anyway. Ben couldn't cover his ears because he was more-or-less carrying the little scut through the corridor. People were opening their doors to see what was up and grinning at Ben in a sympathetic way that made him twitch. "Shut up," he hissed at their pilot. Man seriously could not handle station leave.

"Can't, Ben," sang Dekker. "I'm drunk."

"No shit! So'm I, but you don't hear me trying to sing!"

Here was their door, thank fuck. Ben propped Dekker against the wall and keyed the lock open. Looked around to find that Dek had slid down the wall and was curled on the floor. "You brain-fried little—!" 

"Hey Ben," called Almarshad. "Where're your partners?"

"Off doing some female thing." Ben pushed the door open and grabbed two handfuls of Dek's uniform so he could haul him through the doorway.

"What, like getting their nails painted?" Almarshad was clearly short of things to keep him busy, because he was leaning in his own doorway across the hall like he planned to stay there a while.

"Some such. They spotted a place on the way to dinner, made an appointment by remote, left me with the bill and Captain Moonbeam. Said not to wait up for them." He pulled. Dek came, giggling, but Ben heard a seam ripping somewhere on the coveralls. Damn if _he_ was going to fix it for the little schiz.

"That's gotta be some manicure," commented Vinh from next door. Great, it looked like every mainday rider crew on the ship was home for the evening and wanted to be entertained. "I bet they found a card game or something afterward. Hey, there was a billiards parlor on Green 2."

"What the hell's bill-yerds, Vinnie?" asked Almarshad. Ben had Dek clear of the door by then, so he shut it and left the two of them to discuss old-school physics games without him.

"Why'd you have that last shot, anyway?" asked Ben. He went to the washroom and got a cup of water. He'd had several drinks himself, but he was still tracking pretty straight, not like Dek.

"It was a new flavor," said Dek, from the floor. "Cimma…cinma…cinnamon."

Ben drank his water. Dek rolled over and crawled partway onto the built-in sofa, his legs trailing off onto the floor. "So's cinnamon vodka any good?" Ben asked. 

"Hot. Went down like a fireball." Dek pushed himself to a sitting position. Bad move. He closed his eyes tight and went grey and sweaty. 

Ben dropped the empty cup and grabbed a towel. "You gonna heave? Don't get it on the sofa. Don't wanna be smelling that all night." Not to mention Sal would kill them both.

Dek tightened his lips and shook his head, barely moving it a couple millimeters. "Not that drunk."

"You're an effin' liar," Ben told him. "You're one hundred percent wasted."

Dek smiled a little and started singing again: "Wasted away again in Margaritaville, lookin' for my lost shaker of salt…" 

At least he was quieter this time. "That's a seriously stupid song," said Ben. "What's salt got to do with drinking?"

Dekker opened bloodshot eyes and grinned. "You don't know shit 'bout drinks, Ben. Earthside classic, the Margarita. Made of tequila and fruit. The bartender wets the edge of the glass with juice and dips it in salt first."

"Sounds nasty, What the hell is tequila?"

"Liquor made from cactus juice."

"What the hell? You're even more smashed than I thought, if you think I believe that," said Ben. He'd seen cactus in the herbarium back in Earth orbit: little dry plants covered with hundreds of tiny needle spikes. No way they produced enough juice to be worth fermenting.

Dekker's gaze wandered and he looked sick again. "Ben, c'n you get me a drink?"

"You had enough to drink."

"I mean water."

Ben considered telling him to get his own effin' water, but there was less chance of a mess if someone else did it for him. Ben picked up the cup he'd dropped, got Dek a fresh one, and drew them each a cup of H-2-effing-O. "Light's too bright," muttered Dek as he took it.

Ben dimmed the lights and threw himself onto the other end of the sofa. Dek drank his water in little sips, which was probably the smart way to do it. Ben followed suit. The sofa was real nice, all the sudden: soft, embracing. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

When he opened them, Dek's head was leaning against his shoulder. What the eff. When did that happen?

Dek was out, no question. His thick, dark eyelashes were shading his cheeks, and he was starting to need a shave. Tres untidy. That was the problem with Dek's kind of looks, that pale skin and dark-dark hair. He had shadows under his eyes: liquor did that. So did short sleep, and going through jump. They'd all been through that, late yesterday, when the Old Man took the carrier through. No one was used to it yet. Scary shit. He understood more than most: so many chances for the whole carrier to blow itself and them to oblivion. God, he'd been glad to come out of it and know that he was still here, with Sal. With Dek and Meg. All of them, still here.

Pretty mouth Dek had, even if his lips were a little dry.

So were Ben's. He licked them. Dek's eyelids flickered, came open, a little cloudy and confused.

"Huh. Ben," he said, focusing, and his face brightened up a skosh, like he'd been lost and suddenly recognized that he was home.

Ben kissed him.

Dek made a startled noise and grabbed Ben's arm. But he didn't break the kiss, and when Ben pulled back, Dek didn't slug him. He just looked confused and bizzed. "What the hell was that?"

"Is that a trick question?" said Ben, looking over Dek's head at nothing.

Dek sort of laughed. "Thought I was the one who'd had one shot too many."

"This jump stuff? Messes with you," stated Ben.

"Oh, is that it?" Dek let go of his arm, but he didn't move away. Instead, he rubbed his face. "I think I'm gonna have one hell of a hangover, Ben." His cheeks were red, fool scut that he was.

"Close your eyes," Ben suggested. "You don't need to be anywhere." And when Dek nodded and passed out on his shoulder again, Ben put an arm around him. And then Ben went out too, blip, just like that.

He woke to a conversation he'd already missed part of. "… can't be what it looks like!" Sal was saying.

"I dunno, ladyfriend. They look pretty cozy."

"They smell like Main Rec after New Year's Eve. Ben, you boory scuz, get up! I can't carry you to bed!"

Ben opened his eyes and stretched. And realized that Dek's head was now in his lap. Well, hell. "Hey, keep it down," he ordered, official-like. Didn't Porey like to quote some dead guy, about a good offense being the best defense? "Moonbeam's working on a hangover," he added and winced. Fussing about Dek: now, that wasn't suspicious, was it?

"Look's like that's not all he's working on," said Meg, doing a snarky, suggestive thing with her eyebrows. Very sharp eyebrows, now that he could focus. They both had new hairstyles, too. Meg's red shave-strip had gained blue ends, and their nails must've taken an hour for each hand. "Dek, sladky, get off of Ben, already," Meg said. "You're making me jealous."

Dek sat bolt upright, eyes wild. Then he cringed from the light and held his head. "Crap."

Meg made soothing noises. "C'mon, kittycat, get up, get into your bunk. I'll bring you something for your head."

As she dragged him off, Ben looked up at Sal. Her new 'do had braids tight to her scalp on the top and sides, making lines back to a whole cloud of tiny twists in the back. "That's some new hairstyle. Looks good."

"Don't you try to sweet-talk me, you scuz," she said. "What the hell were you two doing, 'sides getting totally toasted and buttered?"

Ben looked at her sadly and shook his head. "Jump messes with the mind, Sal."

"Oh, that's your story now, huh," she said. She grabbed his arm and hauled him off the sofa, then steered him toward their room. "Well, next time, you better let us watch."

His mouth fell open. She propelled him into the tiny room, shoved him into the bunk, then kicked the door shut. And kissed him until he couldn't breathe;

**Author's Note:**

> #### Rab-Speak Vocabulary Addenda
> 
>  **Boory** — From 21st-century Earth French "beurré" (literally, "buttered"): inebriated, drunk.
> 
>  **Sladky** — From 21st-century Earth Russian "сладкий" (literally, "sweet"): darling, beloved.


End file.
